


The Warner Sister Stands Alone

by Insufferable_KnowItAll



Category: Animaniacs
Genre: Babe wake up a new disease just dropped, But Dot gets her debut as The Responsible Sibling!!, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I’m sorry I used you as a punching bag Yakko... again 😔, Mycoplasma pneumoniae my beloved, Sickfic, This gets pretty angsty y’all, Wakko too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 19:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30111012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insufferable_KnowItAll/pseuds/Insufferable_KnowItAll
Summary: You know the drill. When one Warner gets sick, the others diligently care for them. However, when Yakko falls ill, too, the responsibility falls on Dot. She’s trying her best to keep up with the demand.
Relationships: Dot Warner & Wakko Warner & Yakko Warner
Comments: 14
Kudos: 40





	The Warner Sister Stands Alone

Wakko’s cough was easy to dismiss. 

It was more of a nuisance than a concern; his sporadic coughing fits were brief enough that they were almost negligible.

Wakko himself attributed it to an unspecified allergen and he denied any other symptoms. After a quick once-over from Yakko, the trio continued to film. 

That evening, Wakko developed a slight fever and his cough grew more persistent. Yakko coaxed him to take an ibuprofen and escorted him to bed. 

The eldest Warner bid his brother goodnight with a kiss on the forehead. 

The next morning, all hope of the cough being benign vanished. 

“You don’t look so good,” Dot said. 

Wakko’s exhaustion was apparent. His shoulders slumped forward, his ears and tails drooped, and he frowned. Even his tongue seemed to wilt. 

Wakko sought out his older brother. He clung to Yakko’s side with a lethargic groan. 

Yakko pressed the back of his hand against Wakko’s forehead. 

He frowned, “You’re not feeling too good, are you, baby bro?” 

Wakko shook his head. The subsequent coughing fit emphasized the gravity of the situation. It was a harsh, painful sound that lingered in the air long after the fit had subsided. 

Yakko lifted his younger brother, who rested his chin on Yakko’s shoulder. 

He and Dot exchanged a concerned glance. 

“Don’t worry, Wak, I’ve got you. We’ll get you sorted out in no time,” Yakko promised, marching towards the bedroom. 

Dot followed the duo. She was so close that the tip of Yakko’s tail brushed her chin every few paces.

She peeled back the covers so Yakko could lay their ailing brother in his bed. 

“Hey, Dot, can you grab the ibuprofen and a cool washcloth from the bathroom?” 

“What’s the magic word?” Dot sang. 

“Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious,” Yakko deadpanned. 

“Nice try, big brother, but the word I was looking for was ‘please,’” Dot joked. 

“Keep looking,” Yakko shot back. 

She made a face at her eldest brother before retrieving the requested supplies. 

Dot draped the washcloth across Wakko’s forehead. 

“Thanks, Dot,” Wakko said, smiling up at her. 

She returned the smile, “No need to thank me. The quicker you get better, the less I have to put up with Mr. United-States-Canada-Mexico-Panama alone.” 

“I take offense to that,” Yakko declared. 

He made a few final adjustments to Wakko’s blankets. 

When he was satisfied with the arrangement, he patted their brother’s shoulder affectionately, “Get some rest, Wak. I’ll check on you in an hour.” 

Yakko ushered Dot out of the room. 

He closed the door behind them and turned to face her. 

“Look, I don’t know if this is contagious or not, so I don’t want you to hang around too much, ok?” Yakko urged. 

Dot crossed her arms, “I don’t care. He’s my brother, too. I want to help.”

“I don’t want you to catch this,” he stated. 

“And what about you?” Dot demanded. 

“Eh, I’ll be fine,” Yakko said, waving the notion off, “I’ve got a big brother immune system. I’m impervious.” 

“Oh really?” Dot asked, raising a brow. 

“Mhmm!”

“I’m holding you to that.”

Dot insistently followed Yakko into the bedroom an hour later. She hung back slightly to signify that she wasn’t totally ignoring Yakko’s concerns. He smiled at her. 

He wouldn’t be smiling in a moment. 

Wakko was tangled in his sheets. He flailed against his self-imposed restraints, anguished sobs piercing the air. 

Yakko rushed forward. 

“Wakko! Wakko, buddy, wake up!” He urged, nudging Wakko’s shoulder. 

Wakko awoke with a strangled cry. He attempted to sit up, but his blankets bound him to the bed. 

Yakko carefully untangled the younger boy and pulled him close. 

Wakko pressed his cheek against Yakko’s chest. His shoulders quaked with quiet sobs. 

“What happened?” Yakko asked. 

“I-It’s my fault we got lo-locked in,” Wakko stammered. 

“Nonsense,” Yakko reassured him, “It’s not your fault—it’s _theirs._ The studio probably plotted to lock us away from the beginning. They took advantage of your vulnerability, Wak. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

He wiped Wakko’s tears and pressed a kiss into his forehead. 

Yakko winced.

He met Dot’s eyes and jerked his head towards the ibuprofen. Dot hurried forward. 

He helped Wakko down the medication. Yakko pulled their brother against his chest once more. Wakko relaxed into the embrace. 

He was asleep within moments. 

“Do you think he’ll be ok?” Dot asked. 

“Sure I do! A few days of rest and he’ll be good as new,” Yakko declared. The slight tremor in his voice undermined his statement. 

Dot’s gaze never strayed from Wakko, who began to twitch and whine in his sleep. Yakko ran a placating hand down his spine. Wakko’s pained grimace eased into a slight frown. 

“There we go,” Yakko murmured with a small smile.

Dot hoped with every fiber of her being that her older brother was right. 

Wakko didn’t improve over the next two days. Yakko tried to disguise it, but Dot could tell he was panicked. 

He spent hours trying to calculate the correct dose of insulin for Wakko, whose blood sugar had crept into the 200s. 

The math itself didn’t take long, but Yakko compulsively rechecked it multiple times. He begged Dot to review his calculations. She obliged. 

His work, scrawled in increasingly illegible handwriting, was always right. 

Yakko had always claimed to be math-phobic, but the moment his siblings’ well-being was at stake, he was a regular Einstein. 

Despite his impressive dosage calculation skills, Dot was concerned about him. 

“Have you slept at all since Wakko got sick?” Dot finally asked. 

“Sometimes I blink a bit longer than usual. Same difference, right?” Yakko joked, focused on the vegetables he was dicing for soup. 

“Well, it’s time for you to blink for, oh, 6-8 hours,” she stated. 

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“Either you sleep voluntarily, or we do it the hard way,” Dot threatened. 

He met Dot’s eyes, “Really, sis, don’t wor—AH!” 

He should have kept his eyes on the knife. 

“ _Yakko!_ ”

Yakko curled his hand into a fist and held it against his chest. 

“Let me see,” Dot urged. 

He hesitated for a moment before allowing Dot to take his hand. 

The fabric surrounding the injury was saturated with blood. She peeled back his glove. 

“I don’t think it’s very deep,” she observed. 

“What luck,” he mumbled. 

“You could have taken your finger off, Yak. This _is_ lucky.”

Wakko bolted into the room. When he reached the pair, he bent over in an attempt to catch his breath.

“Heard screams,” he panted, “What happened?”

“Yakko nearly hacked off his finger,” Dot stated nonchalantly. 

“ _Dot,_ ” Yakko chided before turning to his younger brother, “Don’t worry, Wak. It’s still firmly attached—it’s just a small cut. Go back to bed.”

Wakko, still gasping for air, shot a final worried glance at his siblings and retreated. He had to stop every few feet to catch his breath. 

“You’re going the same direction after we get this patched up,” Dot said, “I think we’d all prefer it if the rest of your fingers were left intact.”

“Fair enough.”

Dot retrieved the first aid kit from the bathroom. 

“Owww, that hurts,” Yakko whined while Dot cleaned the wound.

“Oh, stop being a baby!” Dot snapped. 

“I could have bled out, there! I think I have the right to be a bit dramatic,” he proclaimed, draping the uninjured hand across his forehead.

“Bled out? I’ve had paper cuts deeper than this,” Dot remarked, rolling her eyes. 

She secured the bandage around his finger.

“All done,” she said, “Now get some rest. I’d threaten to use force, but I think you’ve injured yourself enough for today.”

“Alright, baby sis,” he sighed, trudging dramatically to the door, “I’ll accept this cruel fate with my usual dignity and poise.”

“G’night,” she replied dispassionately, repacking the first aid kit. 

Dot waited until Yakko was out of sight to abandon her chore. Her legs shook as she rose from the table. She steeled herself for the task at hand.

She crept towards the kitchen, trepidation weighing down her every step. 

Thankfully, the scene before her was less sanguineous than she anticipated. A meager amount of blood speckled the half-diced vegetables. The knife bore a crimson line where it had come down on Yakko’s finger. 

Dot scraped the tainted produce into the garbage with shaking hands. She moved onto the kitchenware. 

She took several grounding breaths. The wound was shallow, but the fright of the experience cut Dot down to the bone. 

She fluffed her fur. The action reassured her. She was still Dot Warner; she could do this. 

It would be ok. 

She would make sure of it.

The Yakko that emerged from the bedroom 6 hours later was a far cry from the anxious mess he had become after Wakko fell ill. 

He was more alert, his thought process was logical, and he was far calmer. 

Dot took comfort in her brother’s amelioration. She hoped Wakko’s recovery would follow. 

This optimism was obliterated the next afternoon. 

Yakko and Dot settled in the living-room. She colored leisurely on the floor. He was perched in his favorite chair, absorbed in a mystery novel. 

Yakko coughed. 

He met Dot’s eyes, which narrowed in suspicion. 

Yakko shook his head ardently and cleared his throat, “It’s nothing.” 

Dot crossed her arms, “You’re sick, too.”

“I’m alright, really!” Yakko protested. 

He sneezed. Dot raised an eyebrow. 

“Allergies,” Yakko insisted. 

“To what?” Dot demanded. 

“Uhhhhhh, fur?” 

“You’re covered in fur. We all are.” 

“Well that explains it!” Yakko declared, sweeping his arms with a flourish. 

“Are you done?” Dot asked after a beat. 

“Uh huh,” Yakko grumbled, “Don’t bother with the ‘I told you so,’ my head hurts enough as it is.”

Dot smirked, “Ok, I won’t say it—I’ll think it instead.”

“You’re a saint,” Yakko replied. 

He sneezed again. 

“Ok, mister, that’s it. Bed,” Dot ordered, pointing at the door. 

Yakko smirked, “Last time I checked, I was the one in charge here.”

“That’s funny, last time _I_ checked, you and Wakko were sick,” Dot retorted. 

“Ok, ok,” Yakko said, holding his hands up, “I’ll go—but _I_ will be the one to take care of Wakko and me. There’s no use in all three of us being sick.”

Dot sighed, “If it’ll make you feel better, sure.”

Yakko strolled towards the bedroom, “Thanks, sis.” 

He certainly tried to care for himself and Wakko. He made it almost 24 hours. 

Yakko shuffled out of the kitchen with a glass of water.

Dot glanced up from her book of poetry. 

He looked even worse than usual—and that was an impressive feat in Dot’s mind. 

His fur was so disheveled that he resembled a black dandelion.

The green blanket draped over his shoulders swallowed his lanky frame. His posture wasn’t helping the situation. If he hunched over any further, he would be mistaken for Quasimodo. 

Dot had been convinced that the dark circles beneath his eyes couldn’t get any worse. 

She was wrong. 

Yakko was one smokey eye away from mirroring the raccoon they released in Scratchansniff’s office the week before. 

She made a mental note to send Scratchy a “get well soon” card… or perhaps a “sorry about the rabies” note. 

Her internal monologue was interrupted by a forceful, grating cough. 

Yakko’s cough had rapidly progressed; it could easily rival Wakko’s. 

She watched helplessly as he sank to his knees. The cup rolled out of his hand. 

Dot scrambled to her brother’s side. She hadn’t even come to a stop before dropping to her knees. Frigid water dampened her fur. She didn’t care. 

“I’m here,” she quaked, “It’s alright.” 

Dot wrapped her arms around herself. She didn’t know what else to do; she was afraid that she would make the situation worse. 

Yakko was the one who provided reassurance during difficult situations. He was the one who fixed things. 

Now it was up to Dot. 

“I won’t leave you,” she added.

The attack waned. It left Yakko gasping in an attempt to recoup the oxygen it had stolen. 

Dot hesitantly laid a hand on his shoulder. He gave her a feeble, absentminded grin and stumbled to his feet. Dot tried her best to stabilize him. She insistently steered him back to bed. 

Once Dot had Yakko situated, he seemed to realize for the first time that she was there. 

He lurched away from her, eyes wide with panic. 

“Stay back. I’m warning you!” Yakko cried.

“Oh yeah? What are you going to do? Cough on me?” Dot taunted, crossing her arms and cocking a brow. 

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” he replied, voice catching on a suppressed cough. 

He tucked his face into his elbow. Dot was wary of the hacking sound that followed. 

It sounded painful. 

She obstinately planted herself on the bed beside him and ran a soothing hand along his back. The heat that radiated off of him concerned her. 

“Dot, I mean it. I don’t want you to get sick,” Yakko rasped. 

“And I don’t want you to hack up a lung. We don’t always get what we want, do we, big brother?” 

“I’ll hack up a lung either way, but you still have a chance. Get outta here. We’ll be alright.”

“And so will I,” Dot stated, scooting closer. She rested her head on Yakko’s shoulder.

“No dissuading ya, huh?” Yakko asked. 

Dot smirked, “You should know me better than that by now.”

Yakko shied away from her as another violent coughing fit took hold. 

After it subsided, Yakko slid down in the bed, arms wrapped protectively around aching ribs, knees pulled up to his chest. His rattling breaths frightened Dot almost as much as the coughing. 

She couldn’t tell whether he was shaking from the strain of the attack or the fever. 

Either way, she would put a stop to it. 

“I’ll grab you some medicine. Don’t worry, older brother, it will be alright,” she reassured, pressing a kiss into his forehead. 

When she returned, Yakko was asleep. 

Her gaze shifted to Wakko. 

He yelped in his sleep. 

Dot placed the medication on the bedside table. 

She crawled onto the bed beside Wakko and rested a hand on his forehead. His fur was damp with sweat and he was shivering violently. He was almost painfully febrile. 

Dot curled up beside him and drew him closer. He whimpered. 

“It’s ok, Wakko,” she murmured.

She began to purr. 

The soft rumbling sound seemed to soothe him. His whimpers trailed off. 

Wakko’s eyes fluttered open. 

“Dot?” He asked groggily. 

“It’s ok,” she repeated. 

He snuggled into her, pulling his blanket tighter around himself. 

Dot continued to purr; she knew she had to fetch his next dose of ibuprofen and a damp washcloth, but it could wait a bit longer. 

Wakko needed her now.

She and Wakko remained in that position for half an hour, until she finally decided to prepare dinner. Dot coaxed her brothers into taking their medication before she left the room. 

She regretted her brief absence as soon as she returned. 

Dot dropped the bowls of soup in shock. 

She lunged forward in a blind panic. 

She swatted the capped syringe to the floor and yanked the vial of insulin out of Yakko’s hand, slamming it on the table. 

“ _What are you doing?_ ” She screamed. 

Yakko froze. 

Dot had yelled, sure, but even _she_ was surprised by the fury in her voice. She decided that it was warranted. 

“I-I was going to give Wakko his shot since it’s almost time for dinner,” Yakko stammered. 

“Did you check his blood sugar?” She demanded. 

Yakko hesitated before shaking his head. 

“Did you even check the dosage?” She hissed. 

He slid a paper forward. 

Dot knew before she saw the paper that it was wrong. Yakko had been adamant about getting Wakko’s blood sugar before every dose. 

The math meant nothing without it. 

She glanced at the almost illegible scribbling.

The number he had come up with would have been catastrophic. 

Dot gripped the table for support. She tried to swallow the bile that rose in her throat at the thought. The bitter taste remained. 

“You could have killed him,” she stated, voice barely above a whisper. 

Yakko paled. He stared at the hands that had almost drawn up a lethal dose of insulin. The hands that almost harmed their brother. 

“I—I—I—” he stuttered, searching for the words. 

He never found them. 

Instead, he stumbled to his bed, collapsed onto the edge, and dropped his face into his hands. 

He was hyperventilating, which exacerbated his illness. A horrible wheezing sound pierced the air. 

Dot sat beside him, “Yakko, look at me. I know you feel guilty, but nothing happened to Wakko. It’s ok.”

“It’s not,” he gasped, “I almost—almost…” 

“But ya didn’t. Wakko’s fine. You’re only making this worse for yourself.”

“Why _wouldn’t_ I be fine?” Wakko asked. 

He was justifiably confused. He was in the bathroom when the incident took place.

Wakko placed himself on Yakko’s other side. His eyes flitted between Yakko and Dot as if searching for an explanation.

Yakko’s face dropped when he looked at Wakko. The wheezing crescendoed.

“I’m taking over. You aren’t responsible for any of this, whether you like it or not, until you get better. Now breathe,” Dot ordered, taking his hand. 

Wakko took the other. 

The three of them breathed—the boys with some difficulty—until the wheezing dwindled. 

“I’ve got you,” Dot said, pulling her brothers into a hug, “I’ll make everything alright for us.”

She started fulfilling the lofty promise by making a new batch of soup. 

While it was cooking, she checked Wakko’s blood sugar and drew up the appropriate dose of insulin. 

Dot finally understood why Yakko had checked his math a dozen times. The prospect of messing up was petrifying, especially after the prior ordeal. 

When she was absolutely _positive_ that she had the correct dose, she approached Wakko. 

He scrutinized the syringe in her hand. 

“I don’t know… You haven’t done it before,” he said. 

“Nonsense! I’ve watched Yakko do it enough that I’m practically proficient,” Dot proclaimed. 

“I can inject it myself,” Wakko offered. 

He couldn’t. 

Dot had insisted on watching Wakko’s technique while the cap was still on. His hands shook so bad that he nearly dropped the syringe. He finally sighed and relinquished it to Dot. 

She gingerly pinched a bit of the fat on the back of his arm and cleaned the site. 

Wakko tensed in anticipation. 

“Deep breath in,” she ordered. 

He complied. 

“And out,” she said, jabbing the needle into his arm and depressing the plunger, “All done!”

“Barely even felt it,” he replied, ruffling her hair. 

She straightened her flower and combed her fingers through her fur, glowering at him. 

“Watch it. I won’t hold back just because you’re sick,” she asserted. 

He giggled, which softened her scowl. It was the first time he’d laughed in days. She didn’t realize how much she had missed it. 

Dot would let his affront slide. 

Just this once. 

“Uh… Should we wake him up?” Wakko asked Dot a mere 15 minutes later. 

She cast a glance at their older brother. 

Yakko was out cold.

His fist, still clutching his spoon, rested in the tepid, half-eaten bowl of soup.

He mumbled in his sleep. 

“Nah,” Dot declared, “He needs the sleep.”

Dot gathered the dishes. 

Wakko removed his brother’s fist from his meal and pried the spoon out of his hand. He handed the cutlery to Dot. She began towards the kitchen while Wakko blotted the soup off of Yakko’s glove. 

“ _NO!_ ”

The bowls and silverware hit the floor with a metallic clatter. Dot whipped around to face the source of the commotion. 

Wakko, who had fallen out of his seat, gawked at Yakko.

Yakko’s face, which rested on the table, was buried in his crossed arms. His shoulders were abnormally tense. 

“Yakko?” Dot tried. 

“ _WAKKO!”_ He shrieked, “ _NO!_ ”

“Yakko!” Dot yelled.   
  
Yakko kept his head down.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed. 

“Yakko, I told you, it’s o—”

“Now—now look what I’ve done,” he whimpered, “I—I hurt him. _It’s my fault._ ”

“Yakko, you _didn’t_ hurt hi—”

The eldest wailed in misery. 

“I was supposed to—to protect them! But I was the one who hurt Wakko. I gave him too much. _Too much!_ _I DID THIS TO HIM!_ ” He yelled. 

Wakko hesitantly rose from his spot on the floor. 

“You haven’t done anything to me,” Wakko reassured him, laying a hand on his back.

He instantly withdrew it and shot a frightened glance at Dot. 

This was bad. This was really bad. 

If Wakko—who still had a fever—thought that their brother was hot, Yakko was in trouble. 

Wakko nudged Yakko, who groaned. 

“I think he’s still asleep,” Wakko told Dot. 

“We need to do something about this. Fast,” she stated, “You stay with him. I’ll grab some cold washcloths.”

She grabbed half a dozen cloths, turned the water onto the lowest temperature, and thrust the stack beneath the frigid water. She returned to the pair.

Wakko rubbed comforting circles into Yakko’s back. The older boy was still sobbing in his sleep. 

Dot handed Wakko three of the washcloths. She folded one in half and laid it across the back of Yakko’s neck.   
  
He shivered when the cold fabric touched him. 

“Sibs?” He croaked, raising his head. The washcloth slipped off. It landed on the floor with a soggy _thwap_. 

“Yakko?” Dot replied. 

“What’s going on?” He asked, looking from Wakko, to Dot, to the washcloth on the floor. 

“You had a nightmare,” Wakko replied, “I’m ok, Yakko. You didn’t hurt me. You’ve never hurt me.”

A strangled sob escaped from Yakko as he pulled Wakko into a fierce hug. 

“I almost gave you too much insulin, Wak. I could have— I almost killed you,” he cried. 

“It’s ok. I forgive you,” Wakko murmured, running his hand down Yakko’s back. 

“You—you _shouldn’t_. I don’t,” Yakko said. 

Dot couldn’t tell if his voice caught on a cough or emotion. Either way, he played it off as a cough. 

“Well, you should, too. You’ve done everything you could for us. You had one near-miss. Big whoop. That doesn’t erase the millions of things you’ve done right,” Dot declared. 

She strode to her brother’s seat and urged him to stand. Wakko stabilized him from the other side. They slowly made their way back to Yakko’s bed. The boys were both out of breath by the time they made it. Yakko all but collapsed into it. Wakko wasn’t much better. 

Dot checked their temperatures. 

_Woah_. 

She rushed to the bathroom to collect her supplies.

Dot forced them to take their medication, laid them back, and buried them in cool cloths. 

“Don’t you think this is a bit excessive?” Yakko asked. 

“Nope,” Dot chirped, draping one over Wakko’s tail. 

When she was satisfied with her work, she perched on the edge of the bed. 

“I’ve decided to grace you with a song,” she stated. 

Her brothers groaned. 

“I thought you wanted us to get _better,_ ” Yakko griped. 

“One more comment like that, big brother, and you won’t have the chance to!” She said sweetly. 

Dot cleared her throat and began to sing. 

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night,_

_Take these broken wings and learn to fly_

_All your life_

_You were only waiting for this moment to arise_

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night,_

_Take these sunken eyes and learn to see_

_All your life_

_You were only waiting for this moment to be free_

“Wow, sis, you’ve really improved. My ears aren’t bleeding this time!” Yakko joked. 

“It almost sounded good,” Wakko added. 

Their voices were so full of fondness that Dot smiled despite herself. 

“Maybe it’s time to get your hearing checked. It sounded _beautiful_ to me,” she retorted with the same affectionate tone. 

They snuggled closer. She pressed a kiss into each of their washcloth-laden forehands. 

She would let their taunts go. 

After all, they were terribly ill—the fever must have been frying their brains and robbing them of any good taste they _might_ have had. 

She wouldn’t take it personally. 

Just this once. 

**Author's Note:**

> I gave the Warners another disease........ I think I’ll give them more.  
> Back when the concept was just a sentence-long plot and a few quips, I titled it Dot the BAMF. I think that title does her justice.


End file.
